


An honest smile

by Qwertzu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Model Victor Nikiforov, YOI Secret Santa 2018, different but still the same, meddling BFF Phichit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwertzu/pseuds/Qwertzu
Summary: Viktor fell on his knees with so much grace it could make a swan weep with envy. He looked up at Yuuri and smiled. “Hi, I’m Viktor.”“Claudia,” Yuuri blurted out, shaking the offered hand. His brain caught up with his mouth a moment too late. Dammit, why didn’t the ground open and swallow him before he died of mortification?





	An honest smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izzyisozaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/gifts).



Yuuri felt his heart drumming in his chest, like it usually did before a performance. He tried telling himself he had no reason to be nervous but it was no use. The thought of seeing Viktor Nikiforov in person was—it was _terrifying_. Exciting. Thrilling, yes, but also a little scary. Okay, maybe a lot scary. But it wasn’t like Viktor would talk to him. Yuuri would be just another face in the small crowd of stylists, make-up artists, light technicians and photographers. Technically, he wasn’t even supposed to be there—but having an assistant photographer roommate who knew all about Yuuri’s crush on Viktor certainly had its perks.

“Yuuri!” Phichit called out, snapping him out of his reverie. “We need to set up the lighting, could you go stand there and pretend to be Claudia?”

Yuuri nodded, grateful for the distraction. It wasn’t the first time he helped the photographers set up the lights. All he had to do was stand on the designated spot while Phichit snapped a few test photos and directed the technicians to get the best results. Sometimes he was asked to hold a certain pose. Yuuri didn’t mind. As a ballet dancer he was more than familiar with standing in one position unmoving.

“Okay, Claudia, you’re perfect,” his best friend grinned at him cheekily. “Now, I need a Viktor...” he muttered, looking around for a willing victim.

“May I be of service?” a softly accented voice asked. Viktor Nikiforov in the flesh— _Where in the world did he come from?!—_ raised one perfect eyebrow at Phichit.

“Ah, Mr Nikiforov—”

“Viktor, please.”

“It’s okay, Viktor, we’re just prepping the lights, you’re not needed yet.”

Did Viktor just glance at Yuuri? _Surely not._

“You need someone as tall as me, right? I’m as tall as me!” Nobody was immune to the full force of Viktor’s charm. Phichit didn’t stand a chance.

“Okay, as long as I can take a selfie with you!” Trust Phichit to never miss an opportunity for a perfect selfie.

And then Viktor was striding over to Yuuri, coming to a halt right next to him. Yuuri had to remind himself how to breathe.

“So, what am I doing?” Viktor asked Phichit.

“For starters, you’re kneeling at Claudia’s feet.”

Viktor fell on his knees with so much grace it could make a swan weep with envy. He looked up at Yuuri and smiled. “Hi, I’m Viktor.”

“Claudia,” Yuuri blurted out, shaking the offered hand. His brain caught up with his mouth a moment too late. Dammit, why didn’t the ground open and swallow him before he died of mortification?

Yuuri distantly realised Phichit was probably documenting it all, the traitor.

And Viktor—Viktor was laughing. Not a cruel, mocking laughter but a genuine chuckle of amusement that made dimples appear on his cheeks. It was mesmerising. Yuuri had thought he had all of Viktor’s smiles memorised but he’d never seen this one.

“I haven’t seen you before. Which agency are you from?” Viktor asked, still smiling.

“Agency? I’m not model,” Yuuri mumbled, somewhat astonished that Viktor thought him to be one. “I’m just a dime-a-dozen ballet dancer.”

“Wow, amazing! I’ll have you know I almost became a ballet dancer too.”

“Really?” None of the interviews had mentioned that.

Viktor nodded. “As a kid I used to train under Lilia Baranovskaya. I also took figure skating lessons from her ex-husband; I even competed in a few junior competitions. Who knows, maybe if I had stuck to skating, I would have been a four-time world champion by now.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. _Talk about coincidence!_ “I learned figure skating as a child too,” he admitted shyly. “My friend’s family owns an ice rink in my town.”

“Wow, we could have been competitors, imagine that! Where did you grow up?”

 

Somehow, talking to Viktor was shockingly easy. Yuuri had no idea how they ended up trading stories about their respective dog’s shenanigans. All he knew was that when Viktor’s exasperated manager came to drag him to the make-up room, grumbling how Viktor should have been there half an hour ago, Yuuri wasn’t the only one surprised at how fast the time had flown.

 

* * *

 

Phichit liked staying after the photoshoot and watching how various creative directors chose the best pics. (And if he learned something from the selection process that he could use for his social media accounts—well, that was nobody’s business.) Today, however, he was glad that he hadn’t been the main photographer. Not that the pics were bad—something like that was frankly impossible with two beautiful professional models—but judging by the campaign manager’s scowl, he wasn’t happy with them.

Pierre kept hitting the back button on the keyboard, muttering unflattering comments under his breath. “Flat. Emotionless. I’ve seen more chemistry between two potted plants! How utterly dull. Boring...”

Phichit’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He discreetly took it out to read Leo’s message and type a quick reply, only half listening to Pierre’s unimpressed grumbles.

“Oh, come on! Give me something genuine! Give me attraction! Give me some honest emotion! Give me— _this._ What’s this?”

Phichit whipped his head up. On the screen was Viktor, cooing over a video of Vicchan on Yuuri’s phone. Yuuri stood next to him with a ‘proud dog parent’ smile reserved for his beloved pooch.

“Sorry about that!” Phichit said sheepishly. “That’s from the prep, let me just copy it and I’ll delete it.”

“You will do no such thing!” Pierre announced sternly, clicking on the next pic. This one had Viktor frozen mid-story and Yuuri listening with rapt attention. Next one had both of them looking at each other—Viktor beaming and Yuuri wearing a shy smile. “Get me this guy’s manager on the phone.”

“He doesn’t have one, he’s not a model.”

Pierre turned to stare at him. “What do you mean, _he’s not a model?_ Have you seen those cheekbones? Look at that posture! _How_ is he not a model?”

“He’s a ballet dancer,” Phichit informed him.

“ _Ah_ , that certainly explains those perfect thighs,” Pierre nodded in understanding. “I _need_ those thighs for the spring jeans campaign. What did you say his name was?”

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Lydia!” As usual, the secretary seemingly materialised out of thin air, ever-present notebook in hand. “Tell the lawyers to draft a contract. We’re hiring Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stared at the contract as he paced around the living room. On one hand, it was a lot of money. His ballet scholarship could only cover so much. This could easily pay his rent, his dance studio membership, new ballet shoes and even a visit to his family during the next school break. On the other hand...

“Phichit, I think I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have signed it! I know nothing about modelling! What if I mess up? I’ll be absolutely horrible!”

“Yuuri,” Phichit protested patiently, “you are one of the most photogenic people I know, and I work with models! Trust me, you’ll be amazing. I have several albums to prove it!”

That made Yuuri stop in his tracks. He whirled around, narrowing his eyes at Phichit. “You mean albums of those photos which you promised to delete?”

Phichit froze guiltily. “Oops?” Before Yuuri could retaliate, the doorbell rang. “Whew, saved by the doorbell! Can you get the door? I think it’s for you!”

“We’re not finished yet,” Yuuri promised as he went to open the door.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, a large toffee-coloured poodle laving his face with affectionate kisses.

“Makkachin!” a familiar voice admonished the poodle gently. “We don’t jump at people! Not even if they’re adorable dog lovers.”

“Vi–Viktor? What are you doing here?”

The model grinned happily. “Yuuri, starting today, I will be your coach. I’ll make you win the Discovery of the Year award!”


End file.
